She looked into his eyes, truly noticing their gray color for the first time. She pushed at the closer of the two soldiers bearing the precious burden. “Of course it is, Anna. “We are not the sort that goes under,” said Ann Veronica, holding her hands so that the red reflections vanished from her eyes. Her mother brewed potions to scent her hair, sweet balms of anise for her lips and hands, told her wonderful secrets, some decidedly un-Christian. Besides ——” She stopped short.
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